Thinking Out Loud
by House-less
Summary: He enters the room and finds her, looking out the window. She turns around to face him and, at that moment, they both know things are going to change. For the better or the worst. An attempt to fix Bombshells and cie's mess.


Hi,

This is a one-shot I've been thinking about/writing for quite a long time and it's finally done! It's to set in "Fall From Grace". Ugh, I know. I hope you enjoy it.

N/A: title and story are inspired by Ed Sheeran's song though one has nothing to do with the other. Go figure. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

 **Thinking Out Loud**

She stands alone in the dark room. She doesn't turn her head towards the door when she hears murmurs behind it. She concentrates on the sound of raindrops falling onto the ground outside. It's music to her ears. Her breath is heavy, her shoulders tensed and her eyes moisten from time to time. She forces herself to think about something else, anything. She needs to collect herself before returning to the living room and pretend it doesn't affect her. But everything, every corner, every detail reminds her of fragments of memories that tear her apart. She hears the door open.

He walks down the corridor, tired of faking smiles and shaking hands. He heads to his bedroom. Just when he puts his hand on the doorknob, he hears someone calling him. "I won't be long," he tells her. She smiles at him and he hasn't the force to return it. All he wants is to get out of here. He pushes the door open just the slightest and instantly freezes. She's there. He doesn't know why it gets to him that much and doesn't want to. It seems unreal and he wants to wake up. He cracks the door open.

Their eyes meet in the darkness when she turns to face him. He makes two steps forward, closing the door behind him. "Your stuff are over there," he says, gesturing to a corner of the room. "Thanks." They both look awkwardly at the ground; her high heels are carefully placed beside her bare feet. "They were hurting," she explains when he looks at her again. He nods, approaches her and looks outside the window. "I hate weddings." She looks up at him. "It's _yours._ " He shrugs, she rolls her eyes. The rain makes a beautiful melody, he muses. "You dance?"

Her eyes reflect a deep surprise and a growing curiosity. She waits a second before she lets him guide her hand to his chest, where his heart beats rhythmically. She missed it, their intimacy. And she realizes it didn't disappear when he touches the fingertips of her left hand gently. Fragments of memories come to surface. She obliges herself to shook them away before it got to her. Another second and she's dragged closer to him and feels his hand on her waist. There is no music, there is no light. The rain and the shining of their eyes are enough.

He is moved by the emotions that go through him when he touches her, all the memories the simple gesture holds. He holds her closer to him and it doesn't feel right anymore. But he keeps moving to an imaginary rhythm as long as she's here with him, losing himself in the moment. Nothing done or said matters now, there's only her to his eyes. He takes her in his arms, lets her place her head on his shoulder. He wants to see her eyes but knows it'd be too much for both of them. "What are you thinking about?"

They hold each other's gaze when she looks up as he spoke. They both are shaken at the realization of how affected they are. They are grieving over a relationship that cost them a lot and which they desperately tried to make work but it did harm them even more. They keep dancing slowly; from the outside, it looks more like a hug. They hold on to each other as of there was still something to save. But they both know it's over their power and that nothing good would come out of it. They know. They have tried before.

She looks at the bed. _Their_ bed. Or what used to be theirs. She doesn't feel the words escape her mouth when she speaks. "I'm thinking about how you'll make love to another woman in a few hours. On _this_ bed." Her tone isn't harsh. She is too sad for that. She doesn't even have the power to escape from his embrace. But it feels so good, too good to be in his arms. She won't be allowed to feel them wrapped around her like this anymore. It tears her apart to think Dominika will. But it's all her fault.

If he's surprised by her honesty, he doesn't let it show. The blue of his eyes becomes unconsciously a shade darker, icier. Making her suffer doesn't make him happy, or even satisfied. He imagined that it would but it isn't enough, not even comparable with what he's enduring because of her, their breakup. Although, he continues, knowing exactly what would hurt her. "It could've been you," he hisses. His tone is full of reproaches. He doesn't feel satisfied either. He starts to think nothing would ever appease him; nothing, even revenge, would heal his wounded heart. "You fucked everything up."

They continue dancing at a slow pace. Slow like the fire burning inside them. They would crack at any moment but none of them lets his walls break. They look intensely into each other's eyes, challenging. Their pride makes them go far beyond their limits while it could be so simple. "You better go dance with your wife," she says, and he can see her tears through the barrier of her beautiful eyes. "She's not my wife yet," is all he finds to respond. She looks at the door. Closed. The light is even dimmer and the atmosphere is heavier.

She stops moving. Her hand isn't on top of his beating heart anymore, the one on his shoulder either. Slowly, she slips between his fingers, taking a few steps backward. She looks at him all the time. For a second, she wants to let go, to stop the masquerade they'd created. She is unable to speak the words she _really_ wants to say. It would be too easy after all that happened. And it's too hard to forget it. She really wants to give them this chance but she can't. "Be happy." She turns around and heads to the door.

He watches her, flying away from him, again. He's angry. Angry at himself for not being able to keep her. Angry at her, too. Memories come across his mind and he remembers how she came to find him when _he_ screwed up. "Cuddy," he calls her. He's not sure why. He walks to the door, where she stopped. "I went through shit for you and that time wasn't an exception," he says once he meets her eyes. He wants her to know why he did that. "And I'm ready to go through hell if you want to fight for this."

They look at each other for a long moment, their eyes do the talk their mouths aren't able to. "This is gonna be tough," she finally speaks, leaning on the door behind her. "That's why I mentioned hell," he replied, obvious. "I'm sorry," Cuddy whispers, her eyes moistening. "Yeah, me too. Come on." He drags her into his arms again, resuming the dance. They move slowly like before; except, they feel more peaceful. He pulls her closer to him as they move, following the rhythm raindrops were dictating. Hard times were coming, they knew, but now it was just okay.

She looks up at him after moments and, unable to verbally express how she feels, places a gentle kiss on his lips. He deepens it for a moment, relishing the touch. It's the first intimate contact after they broke-up; it feels as strange as familiar. And it feels good, _right_. "You were going to get married," she says, biting her lower lip. Only now she realizes the extent of the situation. She looks closely at his face. He looks at his left hand and she follows his gaze. It isn't too late yet. "You too," he reminds her. They smile.

The End.


End file.
